Pale Moon Rising
by NearMercury
Summary: Years into the future, The Lord of the Rings is a popular virtual reality game. When one player sets herself up with more detail than has ever been used before, the system is overloaded and shuts down the safeties, leaving her in a war fully able to die.
1. Programming

Disclaimer – I own nothing recognisable. Mithdarion is mine. Nothing for Lord of the Rings or any other random I may mention is mine and I make no profit from the writing of my stories.

PALE MOON RISING

Chapter One - Programming

"Next!" Called Kylie, opening a new spread sheet on the computer. She looked up to see a young woman slip into her office, a folder clasped in her hands. "Take a seat," Kylie said politely. She studied the woman, mildly impressed. This didn't look like the usual air-headed teenage fan-girl she dealt with most of the day. This young woman was dressed neatly in pressed pin-stripe trousers and matching jacket with a v-necked shirt and her shoulder length bob a natural warm brown. Nothing about her screamed 'pay-attention-to-me'. As the woman sat down she placed the folder on the desk and smiled somewhat shyly.

"Hello," she said with a light English accent.

"Hello," Kylie replied, flashing her own teeth in a smile considerably more real than the grimace she had bestowed on the blathering sixteen year old that had been her last client. "My name is Kylie and I will be your Guide for your Game." Kylie returned her attention to her computer screen, continuing, "I'll start off with the basics, things we need to know to set up monitoring parameters, okay?"

"Sure, that's fine," the woman agreed.

"Right then… your full name please, your real name, not your character's name."

"My name is Sam Erica Tarion," the woman said easily. Kylie nodded and typed on her keyboard.

"Birth date?"

"Seventh of August, 1986."

"Height and Weight?"

"Seventy kilos, one hundred and seventy-two centimetres."

"Hair and eye colour?"

"Medium brown and sort of blue-green-grey-hazel." Kylie paused and glanced up in disbelief.

"Don't tell me your eye colour changes with your mood…"

"Oh, no," Sam laughed. "Or at least, no more so than is normal. My eyes are just a sort of muddy mix of everything. Hazel's good enough, if you'd prefer." Kylie leaned forwards, staring into the woman's eyes. Sam leaned forward in response and removed the square rimmed glasses over her nose.

"Hmm," Kylie said in interest. "You're right. They could be called any colour." She tapped the desk, then shrugged. "Hazel it is. Right… next, any major health issues we need to be aware of?"

"Poor eyesight, weird hearing and an artificial scaphoid bone, the result of a rather nasty horse ridding accident when I was twelve."

"Really?" Kylie asked. "Well, that's nothing to worry about. Certainly not serious enough to disallow your Game. Compensation for your lower senses is easily done in cyber." There was a moment of quiet as Kylie finished typing then she looked up and smiled again. "And now the interesting stuff. Character building. First thing's first, full name, its meaning and any alternative names."

"Mithdarion." Sam said, neither pride nor hesitancy in her voice. "It means Pale-Moon-Rising. She sounded comfortable with the name, the soft vowels rolling off her tongue. Kylie nodded and said,

"Spell it for me, please." Sam did so. "Right, female I assume?"

"No, Mithdarion is male." Kylie's fingers slipped and she had to delete a line of gibberish off her screen.

"Your character is male?"

"Is that going to be a problem?" Sam asked worriedly.

"Oh, no, no," Kylie reassured. "Its just… very rare. But good. Yes, the programmers will love you for it. They so rarely get to design male parameters. Any alternative names?"

"He is also know as Daemond, in the Westron tongue. It means Blue-Robe."

"What species is Mithdarion then?"

"His mother is Noldor and his father Maier."

"Ah, a more common selection there," Kylie said laughingly thinking of all the GodessMary-Sues she'd set up in the past.

"I… have a family tree…" Sam began, reaching out to pick up her folder and blushing faintly.

"Really?" Kylie asked, pleased at the time-saver this woman had just offered her. "That's fantastic. May I?" Sam willingly handed her a single sheet of paper from the folder. Kylie looked it over, making note of all the beautifully well-researched dates and bloodlines drawn in blue and green ink. One name, near the centre, was written in deep purple. Mithdarion, son of Mithrandir and Diathain. Diathain, it seemed, was the younger sister of Galadriel, connecting Mithdarion to a number of powerful, canonically influential characters. "This is wonderfully done," Kylie praised. "So few people really know what they are getting into by entering a Game, but I can see you have put a great deal of thought into this."

"I am an author," the woman said in some form of explanation. "I am used to knowing the complete background and pysci of my characters."

"An author?" Kylie asked curiously. She was about to go on to ask what the woman had written, but one glance at the clock on her screen stopped her. "That's great, it'll make the Game more realistic for you. But, on with the questions. Appearance. For a mostly elven male, there are some set characteristics…" She paused as Sam took more sheets of paper from her folder. Kylie accepted them. The first was a set of head shots, front, side and back, of a grey-haired male elf. The images were in full colour and showed every detail of face, hair and ears, even to the tiniest speckle of blue in the wide elven eyes. Fascinated despite her experience with such things, Kylie flicked through the rest of the pages. One was of the character, completely, unashamedly naked in complete rotation. Kylie didn't know what she was more drawn to linger over, the character's impressive yet not ridiculous genitals, or the intricate flowering vine tattooed down his back and left leg. Another page had close ups of the tattoo, another of a few pieces of jewellery. The last few pages were a description of the character's preferred clothing including illustrations.

Across the desk, Sam shifted uneasily over Kylie's intense study of her drawings.

"Urm," she started. "I have information on his weaponry and other important belongings too. His pack and such… is that alright?"

"Huh?" Kylie asked, dragging herself away from the image of the naked elf.

"I wasn't sure how much of my interpretative detail could be incorporated into the Game, so I just wrote down everything," Sam explained, a hint of embarrassment creeping into her voice.

"Oh!" Kylie exclaimed. "No! No, this is brilliant! Everything you've got here can be used, that's not a problem. No, I was just thinking that if you were looking for a job after you get out, the programmers here would snatch you up in a second." Sam blushed, her mouth tilting up in pleasure even as she turned pink from awkwardness. Kylie moved on, not wanting her client to feel so uncomfortable. "Well then," she said, taking the rest of the papers from the folder and looking them over. "It seems the only things I have to ask you now are what ability programs you'll need. The first three are included in the price of the Game package, but after that I'm afraid they cost extra."

"I know," Sam said, feeling more comfortable now that they were back on business. "I've worked out which programs I'll need…" she took back on of the pieces of paper that only contained words. "For the three ones covered, I would like all three levels of 'War Crafts, specialising in staff, long-sword and short-bow. Then in addition I would please like 'Ranger Basics', 'Middle Earth Languages', including Westron, Quenya, Twengwi fluently and basic Dwarfish phrases, 'Advanced Hunting/Scouting', 'Elven Minstrel' with the pan-pipes as my instrument, 'Elven Dances', 'Healer Basics' and also the full programs needed for a well travelled Loth Lorien Noldor elf, which I believe is made up of four programs. In total, I would like thirteen programs, three of which are covered and nine of which should be added to my account."

Kylie barely looked up from her typing as Sam listed her programs, nodding now and then to show she was keeping up.

"Right. Okay. All that's left then would be any important relationship details. Not already given in here," Kylie waved towards the folder now repacked with its papers.

"Such as?" Sam asked, unsure of what the Guide meant.

"Well, such as here." Kylie tapped the line on the family tree linking Mithdarion to Haldir "Your family tree has you character 'bonded' with Haldir O'Lorien. Is this a standing relationship, or does the romance occur during the Game?"

"Oh, I see. No, the relationship is a long-standing bond of many centauries. There is some, I don't know… 'action' I suppose… in regards to the relationship during times when the characters are in proximity, but the affection is in no way 'new' and time has made the expected changes to their interactions."

"Okay," Kylie said, deeply impressed that this woman's ideal Game contained a stable relationship rather than a girlish whirlwind romance. She tapped at her keyboard for a while, checking that everything was in order. She scanned the sheets into the data bank and sent them off to the programmers, who quickly sent back emails of excitement and pleading requests to meet the young woman who had created the character they had nicknamed 'The Blue Istari'. Kylie grinned and ignored their pleas in favour of saying to Sam,

"You are going to have one of the best Games this place has ever done. The programmers are already intent on complicating the basic storyline to give your character the opportunity to really thrive. Plus, since you've done all their dull-basics work, they get to play with the storyline and add extra, unique events in for you."

"Fantastic," Sam replied, straightening in her chair in excitement. "I look forward to it."

"Well, it usually takes a week or two to prepare a full emulsion Game like this," Kylie began with Sam nodding in understanding. "For you though, three days? Maybe four at most, if the programmers get carried away." Kylie laughed at Sam's elated expression. "Like I said, you've made quite the reputation here already. I've no doubt that when you come in to be hooked up a whole bunch of programming nerds are going to be vying for your attention."

"Oh dear," Sam said, her tone clearly conveying her amusement at the idea.

"Indeed," Kylie replied, smirking. "Anything else you want to know? Any questions about the process?"

"Not right now," Sam said easily. "I researched the whole thing deeply before I made the decision to come here. The only thing I was wondering about is the 'emergency-exit' thing. I was told that I could have it linked up to the pendant my character wears?"

"That's right," Kylie answered. She flipped through the sheet on her desk until she found the one with the jewellery on it. "Is this the one you want linked?" She asked, pointing to a pentagram etched onto a disc shaped mithril pendant.

"Yes, that's the one," Sam replied.

"I'll make sure the programmers know," Kylie said, slipping the sheet back into the folder. "Everything will be done exactly to your specifications, Ms Tarion. With added dedication no doubt."

"Wonderful, I'm most grateful for all of your efforts," said Sam.

"Right. It's a pleasure. Until next time," Kylie said, standing and gesturing to the door. Sam rose to her feet and shook the Guide's hand.

"Thankyou, Kylie. Goodbye."

"Goodbye," Kylie replied, waving as her client disappeared down the corridor to the reception. "Next!"

A/N: This is the first thing I have ever posted and it is unbeta'd. I need a beta, if anybody reads this and likes it enough to volunteer. Please review. Constructive comments are joyously welcomed.


	2. Are You Sitting Comfortably?

Disclaimer – I own nothing recognisable. Mithdarion is mine. Nothing from Lord of the Rings or any other fandom I may mention is mine and I make no profit from the writing of my stories.

PALE MOON RISING

Chapter Two – Are you sitting comfortably?

Four days after Sam Tarion had sat in Kylie's office, discussing the business end of her upcoming Gaming Adventure, she received a phone call telling her to come in to be hooked up.

Upon arriving at the clinic she was ushered down a corridor and into a room full of computer screens, surrounding a huge reclining chair made of grey plastic. The moment that she stepped into the room, Sam found herself swarmed by a crowd of people all talking at once.

"Ah, it's our Blue Istari!" One short man cried, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.

"Hey, hey! Let me through!" Yelled another as he kept getting pushing to the back of the crowd.

"Ms. Tarion, welcome to the Central Program," said a third, holding his hand out politely. Before Sam could reach back to shake it though, he was pushed away by a chubby woman with spiky hair and orange contact lenses who exclaimed,

"You just wait until Loth Lorien! I made a special room up just for you and Haldir!" Sam watched in growing horror as the woman's eyebrows wriggled up and down suggestively.

"Right! That is quite enough!" Yelled a powerful woman's voice and Sam turned, almost melting in relief as Kylie stepped through the door. The guide winked as she deftly pushed the small crowd of programmers back from the over-whelmed Sam. "Give Ms. Tarion some room, please!" Kylie placed her hand in the small of Sam's back and gently pushed her over to the giant plastic chair. Sam sat, amazed at how comfortable the chair was. It felt like it had been moulded to her body. There was even a foot rest at exactly the rest level for her to lightly place her brown boots on.

"Oh, this is nice," she said.

"Well, thankyou!" Said one of the men who had crowed her before. Sam raised her eyebrows at him in question and Kylie stepped forwards to make introductions.

"This is Doctor Paul, he's your health monitor." The Guide said, tapping the shoulder of the man who had just thanked her. "He designed your chair too, with all the medical monitors and such." Sam nodded as the doctor waved at her, his black-rimmed glasses slipping down his nose only to be absently pushed back into place. Kylie went on,

"The lady over at the keyboard there is Sparky, she's your supporting character designer." The woman who had wriggled her eyebrows at Samm before winked and mouthed the name 'Haldir', then made a swooning gesture. Sam blushed lightly and winked back.

"The guy in the green shirt is Mike, and he's not supposed to be here at all since he's the program manager and doesn't actually work directly with clients," Kylie continued, frowning at the short man sitting smugly in a swivel-chair with his shoes up on a desk. He waved teasingly at Sam.

"So sue me," he said. "I'm on my lunch break."

"Its ten thirty in the morning," Kylie said in annoyance. Mike laughed and shrugged, replying,

"Whoops?" Sam just sat and smiled in amusement at their banter. Kylie jerked her thumb at the last man, who was typing into a keyboard set into the side of Sam's chair.

"This is Tom. He's the only one you'll really need to worry about because he's the programmer linked to the pendant. If you need anything, a Time Jump, another information program, the emergency exit, even just a bit of a break, speak into the pendant and he will hear you. Isn't that right, Tom?"

"Yup, that's me," Tom said, grinning at Sam in a reassuring manner. "You wanna leave, at any time for any reason, you just let me know and I'll have you out of there in a jiffy. Hey, you just wanna complain about the Game a bit, give me a yell. I love a good laugh."

"I'll make sure and remember that," Sam replied, rolling her eyes. Then she noticed Doctor Paul lifting up a rather sharp looking piece of wire connected to the main computer set into the chair. She gave the wire a distinctly nervous glance. Even though she knew all the basic information about how this worked, the idea of having a piece of wire jabbed into the back of her skull and hooked up to a computer was a bit disconcerting.

"So…" she said, just trying to take her mind off the wire. "How does this program work again?" The programmer Tom answered her.

"The basic idea for the Game program is ubiquitous computing with a fully automatic user interface chip inserted into the back of the cellebellum," Tom said as he adjusted the wire behind Sam's 1st vertibra. "Really though, these two kinds of interfaces have totally different purposes, but they act complementarily to each other to create the full immersion feeling that the Game has. The ubiquitous computing brings the computer programming into the user's world, then the chip is used to actually merge the two user interfaces and create a fully immersive and integrated experience for the player."

Sam just stared at Tom blankly. He noticed her expression and laughed softly. "Don't worry, Sam. I know how it all works. I'll take good care of ya."

"Sure, sure. I trust you," she said. Whether the words were for Tom's benefit or her own however was unclear.

"That's a girl," the programmer said. Sam felt a sharp prick at the base of her skull as Paul set the wire against her skin.

"Are you ready then?" The doctor asked. Taking one last deep breath and feeling vaguly reasured by Tom's bright smile looking down at her, Sam said

"Yes, I'm ready." There was an intense burst of pain behind her skull that spiraled through her head and seemed to bury itself behind her eyes.

Everything plunged into darkness.

A/N: Chapter two done! Yeah! I know it's short, but now we can actually begin the story in Middle Earth. In which there are hobbits, wizards and much confusion with his/her pronouns!


	3. My Father, the Wizard

Disclaimer – I own nothing recognisable. Mithdarion is mine. Nothing from Lord of the Rings or any other fandom I may mention is mine and I make no profit from the writing of my stories.

PALE MOON RISING

Chapter Three – My father, the Wizard

(Mith's POV)

When I came to I was lying sprawled in a sloping grass field with my feet propped up on a pack. The breeze blew and something long and silky fell across my face. Momentarily forgetting what had just happened and where I was, I screamed. Hearing my own voice, I caught my breath so quickly that I bent in half, coughing violently. Once I had returned my breathing to normal, I sat up and caught the silky strand between my fingers. I stared at it. It was hair. Long, thick, silver-grey hair so shiny it could have come straight from a Pantene Pro-V advert. My eyes naturally moved from the silver curl down the slim, pale fingers and up a strong looking hand to a loose blue sleeve.

"Fantastic!" I exclaimed, flinching again at the sound of his voice. It was low and smooth and as silky as my hair. "Wow, is that _my _voice?" I asked the trees. Even over ordinary English words I sounded airy and sensual. Smiling in an almost over-whelming excitement, I recited a few lines of elven poetry.

"Autar i lumbor, ar Nairakénan anúta. Númenna, et Rómello Tilion orta,ar undómess' elen síla." My voice rolled over the Quenyan vowels in a wave of harmonious sounds and I sighed in pleasure. This was amazing! I even had a perfect understanding of what each word meant down to the pitch of each vowel in connotation to its metaphor. Catching sight of a slow running stream to my right, I stood up and wandered over to study myself in the water's reflection.

By any human's standards I was stunningly beautiful. I had the classic Noldor elven height, trim yet powerful figure and graceful movements. I also had long, silver-grey hair in loose curls held off my finely boned face with tiny braids. Each braid had a single, pearl like bead on the end. My lips were pink and full, my cheekbones high and my nose straight. I was beautiful. A little feminine maybe, but that was allowable in an elf. In deference to my innate desire to be different, I also had the full body version of the vine tattoo on my human shoulder. A thin, blue tinted flowering vine from left ankle to right collar bone, it was fine, detailed and utter impossible in Middle Earth where electricity had yet to allow for the tattooing gun.

I was dressed in dark blue trousers, (so tight I swear they had to be painted on), with grey embroidery around the low waistline and the hems tucked into neat dark grey leather boots that hugged my calves. A long, grey plaited belt wrapped twice around my slim waist, keeping closed the mid-thigh length tunic of a blue so dark as to be almost black. The tunic was worn over a loose, pale grey poet's shirt that wasn't visible, but which I could feel soft against my skin beneath the thick cloth of the tunic. I also had the required ankle length midnight-blue robe like Gandalf's grey one, with bell sleeves, big hood and more pockets than you would guess just by looking. There was, I knew, a slightly shorter grey-blue cloak folded beside the satchel by my feet and a pair of grey kit-gloves tucked into a pocket somewhere. All in all, I _looked_ like an elf. The long, pointed ears certainly helped in that respect. They were a good deal taller than the elven ears portrayed in the movies, but I had always imagined my elves far more fantastical than the films had shown them to be.

To my vast relief and even vaster amusement, contingency had apparently taken a running leap when it came to my underwear. I was wearing back Bond's boxer-briefs under my spray-painted trousers and nice thick black Bond's socks beneath the leather boots. It seemed like a bit of a brand plug to me. Lastly, I should probably mention the daggers tucked in each boot and strapped to my left forearm. My sword belt was slung over the grass near my satchel, holding my long, straight sword and another dagger. My staff lay beside it, sapphire crystal snugly set into the design at the tip. Everything was exactly how I had designed it, down to the most detailed grain texture on the shaft of the staff.

The satchel probably held a spare shirt, trousers, socks and shorts, some more daggers, a few books, a quill-pen, ink, water stores, food stores, a few sweets, a gift for Bilbo's birthday, spare crystals, a scarf, hairclips, spare beads, a sewing needle and thread, a mirror, a hairbrush and comb, a toothbrush, some form of environmentally friendly toothpaste and soap, a towel, notepaper, pencils, rope… really anything that could realistically be put in and taken out of a satchel that I may at some point find useful. Technology is a wonderful thing. Being 'in' with the Game's programmers certainly gave me a lot of leeway in the few areas where I wasn't so set on perfect accuracy. After all, realism is only fun so long as you don't have blisters from walking all day with no socks.

I went to open the pack, ended up misjudging my own strength and instead tossing the pack far out across the clearing to land half way up a tree. After that I decided to spend the next few hours getting used to this body, flinging my staff around until I could use it without hitting my own nose or falling over. Practising with my sword until all of the training programs flowed over into a smooth well of knowledge and skill so that I could brandish the sharp weapon without harming myself or accidentally dropping it at a crucial moment. I soon found my grace, much to my relief.

Feeling somewhat sweaty after dancing around like a maniac for hours on end, I stripped off my clothes and plunged with sleek elegance into the deepest part of the stream. The water was bitingly cold but the fascinating process of studying my new body in all its masculine details quickly distracted me. Those programmers had done an astounding job. Everything flexed and planed in all the right places. If it hadn't been for the sheer weirdness of the idea, I would have fallen in love with myself! There were faults though, just enough so that I wasn't perfect. There were a few thin scars, a few bruises. There were calluses on my hands where they should be for one proficient with sword and bow. There were even a few pale freckles across my shoulders and a single, fading ink stain on my right third finger. My face was the same, just non-symmetrical enough that it didn't seem unnatural in its beauty. Faint freckles settled lightly upon my unassuming nose and a tiny scar lifted my left eyebrow by the smallest margin.

I floated in the water, allowing the mild current to catch my hair and send it streaming out from my head. Such a picture I must have made to anyone daring enough to look. Entirely naked except for the pendant around my throat, sunlight splintered by the water to send dappled golden shadows across my skin. An ethereal spirit floating beneath the clouds.

And then it was completely ruined as a gruff voice shouted my name in a most disapproving manner,

"Mithdarion!"

I sank like a stone, landing on the shallow riverbed of pebbles and trying desperately to cover myself. No doubt somewhere out there, a programmer was snickering into his coffee. Coughing and spluttering, I surface to find Gandalf standing on the bank. The old wizard was laughing so hard that he was bowed entirely in two, clutching at his staff and roaring into his beard. My own amusement at the situation warring with embarrassment and irritation, I scurried out of the river and wrapped myself in the thin brown cloth I had set aside to use as a towel.

"Was that really necessary?" I asked dryly, taking Gandalf's continuing laughter as a mild insult. Towelling most of the water from my body, I hopped into my leggings and sat on a rock to pull on my boots.

"It most certainly was!" Gandalf exclaimed, seemingly shocked that I would question his actions, though the twinkle in his eyes belied his amusement. "Sunning yourself like a butterfly, what if an innocent maiden had wandered past?"

"Then she would have seen what other maidens have been begging to see for centuries," I replied. The moment the words left my mouth I cursed myself for my crude arrogance, but my father simply laughed all the harder.

"It is good to see you again, my son," Gandalf said, clasping my shoulder. I returned the gesture, saying

"And you, my father. Such separations are always too long." The wizard nodded, a sad little smile on his face. He shook his head, seeming to bring himself out of whatever memory he had tripped into.

"Gather your things, Mithdarion, and we'll be off. It wouldn't do to be late for the party now, would it? Most unbecoming a wizard."

"Ha," I laughed, twisting to pull my tunic over my shirt without bunching the billowing material. "A wizard is never late. He arrives precisely when he means to." Gandalf grinned at that and replied,

"Very true. Very true indeed." I strayed across the clearing, fetching my pack and sword and tossing them easily into the back of Gandalf's cart. Peering in, I used my staff to push the crates of fireworks around until there was a clear space behind the driver's bench large enough for me to fit in without crushing any of the brightly coloured tubes of powder. I leapt into the cart and made myself comfortable in the cart, my legs crossed and my pack acting as a pillow against the hard wood of the side panels.

"You aren't going to ride?" Gandalf asked me curiously as he situated himself in the driver's bench and took up the reins. I blinked at him, trying to work out why he felt it necessary to ask me such a questions when an irritated neigh preceded the thump of galloping hooves. A bright bay mare charged up to the cart and stuck her muzzle against my chest, snorting hot breath and levelling a frighteningly intelligent expression of reproach at me. I grinned and recovered wonderfully, reaching up to rub behind the horse's ears fondly.

"Don't worry, Rhair," I said, knowledge of her existence suddenly spiralling through my mind from a point at the base of skull. "I wouldn't leave without you."

Gandalf flicked the reins and the cart jerked into movement down the worn track that wound sensuously through the emerald green hills. As I sat, rocking with every rut the cartwheels hit with no suspension what-so-ever, I pondered my position here.

This Game was my dream. For long years I had scrimped and saved to be able to afford all of the programs and safety costs required to set up a long-term Game world, especially one so full of secondary characters and dangerous battles as Middle Earth during the second War of the Ring. Many of my friends had doubted my sanity. Games like this were for teenagers and rich socialites with nothing better to do. Indeed, most fantasy Games were sold as sixteenth birthday presents from parent to child, a way to live out adolescent dreams before settling down to proper, adult behaviour. But here I was, a reasonably wealthy but certainly not rich, upper middle class woman who wrote fiction in between her work at a small research laboratory.

My excuse, or at least the excuse I used to those who cared, was that I had never had a Game of my own as a youth. And really, my reputation as someone who lived inside her head prevented any real surprise at my actions. Now that I was here, everything that I had been through to get here seemed worth it.

This little bit of hobbit country Gandalf… well, Father I suppose I should get used to calling him, and I were travelling over was especially scenic from my point of view, lounging in the back of the cart packed with fireworks. Rhair trailed along behind us. She wasn't tied to the cart. There was no need for her to be, not when her elven nature made her quite happy to follow me wherever I may happen to go.

Squirming as something pointy poked my in the back from my cloak, I dipping my fingers into one of the pockets and drew out a set of silver panpipes. With a shrug, I raised them to my lips. Somewhat nervous despite my firm belief that anything my character could do, I now could do, I blew. A single, smooth note rang out like that of a piccolo, heartening and sweet to hear. Reassured, I moved across the double rows of little pipes in an order that seemed… natural… to me and a haunting melody sang out. The same melody played at the beginning of the movie that had so long ago created the persona of the character I was now embodying. I found myself relaxing into the music and caught out of the corner of my eye, my beloved father, Mithrandir, turn his face slightly to better hear the airy notes I played, a smile half hidden under the beard.

We continued on our journey in silence but for my pipes. It wasn't long until we started passing hobbits working in fields, small cottages, doors stuck into the sides of emerald green hills and chimneys sticking out from the grassy top sending spirals of smoke into the sky. I completed my song and began a new one, another curiously familure tune that the grey wizard in front actually started to sing along with.

"The road goes ever on and on, down from the door where it began. Now far ahead the road has gone, and I must follow if I can..."

My father continued his singing, weaving lowly with my pipes until a hobbit appeared suddenly beside us on top of a small hill, cut into to allow the road to pass.

"You're late", said the hobbit. From my place in the cart I smiled brightly to see Frodo, so fresh and alive in his cute hobbit waistcoat. Father stopped the wagon and gazed up at Frodo with one of his most serious expressions.

"A wizard is never late, Frodo Baggins," he said, casting a bushy eyebrow back at me as he quoted my earlier joke to him. I mentally patted myself on the back for having integrated myself into the story so smoothly. "Nor is he early." Gandalf continued. "He arrives precisely when he means to." I remained perfectly still as a moment of silence came over them. Then Gandalf broke and giggled childishly before bursting into full-fledged laughter. Frodo laughed along with him and launched himself onto the front seat of the cart.

"Its wonderful to see you again Gandalf," Frodo said as he hugged my father tightly. Father hugged him back then released him as Frodo spun on his haunches to reach out to me. I leaned forwards to give the hobbit an awkward hug, the wood of the cart pushing into my belly.

"Mith!" Frodo said joyfully. "I'm so happy you came!"

"Of course I came!" I replied, messing up Frodo's curly hair teasingly. "You didn't think I would miss your Uncle Bilbo's birthday?" I questioned as Frodo laughed and pushed his curls off his face.

"I wasn't sure," the hobbit replied. "You're always so busy with such worldly matters…"

"Nothing I won't throw aside for a good party," I said, laughing myself at Gandalf's rolled eyes and Frodo's thrilled grin.

We continued to drive slowly through the Shire. Every so often I would hear a ripping noise as Rhair ducked to rip out a mouthful of sweet grass.

"What news of the outside world?" inquired Frodo, "tell me everything!"

"Everything?!", asked Gandalf, his bushy eyebrows rising so high they blended in with his hair. I poked Frodo in the back and huffed,

"Far too eager and curious for a hobbit, most unnatural", Father decided to humour Frodo's question,

"Well, what can I tell you? Life in the wide world goes on as much as it has this past age. Full of its own comings and goings. Scarcely aware of the existence of the hobbits, for which I am very thankful."

We passed unceremoniously through the town of Hobbiton. I looked to the side and saw the preparations for Bilbo's party, bright colours and quick movements beneath the great 'part tree'.

"Oh, preparations for the long expected party!" I exclaimed joyfully.

The hobbits worked tediously preparing the celebration. Tents were being set up, signs were being posted. Their hardest task it seemed was to put up a banner that had the words, 'Happy Birthday, Bilbo Baggins' written in vivid painted letters. The hobbits clapped their hands, congratulating themselves at their achievement as the banner fluttered in the wind. I sighed in utter contentment.

I leaned forward on the edge of the cart and asked,

"So how is Bilbo, the old rascal? I hear it's going to be a party of special magnificence."

"You know Bilbo", said Frodo, "he's got the entire place in an uproar."

"Well, that should please him," Gandalf laughed. Frodo nodded, replying,

"Half the shire has been invited."

"Oh, good gracious me," Father said calmly. Frodo shifted to better glare up at the wizard, adding,

"He's up to something."

"Oh really?" Gandalf said, not giving up a single hint of Bilbo's plans.

"Mith?" Frodo tried when he got nothing out of Gandalf. I shrugged and stared with sudden fascination at the clouds, my lips twitching in my attempt to hide a grin.

"All right then, keep your secrets," Frodo told me as Father laughed mischievously at Frodo's suspicious nature. "Before you came along, we Bagginses were very well thought of."

"Indeed?" I intoned in mock seriousness as Gandalf's eyebrows repeated their disappearing act into his hairline.

"Never had any adventures or did anything unexpected," Frodo continued.

Father, clearly feeling mildly put out that Frodo was blaming him for Bilbo's adventure with Smaug the dragon, said defensively,

"If you're referring to the incident with the dragon, I was barely involved. All I did was give your uncle a little nudge out of the door."

"Oh yes," I added. "Just the tiniest nudge, no more than a feather light brush towards the road really. The very gentlest of prods…"

"Yes, thankyou that's quite enough agreeing with me, Mithdarion." Father said, cutting me off with an exasperated shake of his grey head.

"Whatever you did, you have both been officially labelled as 'disturbers of the peace'," stated Frodo in an oddly proud manner.

"Oh, oh really?" Father asked wonderingly, and I could see that he was rather pleased with this idea.

Suddenly, the hobbit children ran down knowing the infamous grey wizard has come to the shire once again. The children cried out, "Gandalf! Mith! Fireworks, Gandalf! Fireworks! Mith! Fireworks…" I couldn't help but melt like butter as the curly haired children called after me by an endearingly shortened version of my name. Mith, pale-one. If any but the children had tried it, I would have had my fist around their throat before they knew what was happening. Only a very select few could get away with calling me 'Mith' and live to tell about it.

The children gathered at the back of the wagon wagon, trailing us like ducklings while keeping well clear of Rhair's soup plate hooves. I raised my brows in question and Father tapped the side of his nose. Waiting just long enough that the children began to pout in disappointment, I twitched my fingers and set the wicks of a few of the smaller fireworks alight. They whizzed up over my head and behind us in a sparkle of coloured lights. The children cheered.

"YAAAAH!" Gandalf laughed mischievously and I faked an innocent expression at Frodo's knowing stare. Thinning smoke wafted in our wake and I waved the worst of it away from my face, surprised at how sharp the scent of sulphur seemed out in the open air. From the corner of my eye I saw the grumpy Mr. Proudfoot laughing along with the children until his wife caught him in action.

Frodo enjoyed riding along with us, beaming at the stares of the other hobbit folk as we passed apparently pleased at the reputation he gained by our presence. As we passed the town square though he went to jump off, saying,

"Gandalf, Mithdarion, I'm glad you're back."

"So am I, dear boy," Gandalf said as Frodo landed on the ground and waved goodbye. "So am I…"

"However briefly we may linger," I murmured thoughtfully. "We are glad yet that we are free to do so."

A/N: So we've finally gotten into Middle Earth and some main character interaction! Yeah! Next chapter, Bilbo's party! Mith dances with some hobbit girls half his height!

The translation of the poem is – "_The clouds pass, and I see the Sun setting in the West, and from the East the Moon rises, and in the twilight the star shines."_


	4. Bilbo's Party

Disclaimer – I own nothing recognisable. Mithdarion is mine. Nothing from Lord of the Rings or any other fandom I may mention is mine and I make no profit from the writing of my stories.

PALE MOON RISING

Chapter Four – Bilbo's Party

The two wizards continued their easy journey towards Bag End, moving sedately along the dirt road as it wound between hills of emerald green and tiled fields. Soon they reached the low gate with the sign 'No Admittance Except On Party Business'. His face stunning with his eager smile, Mithdarion leapt down from the back of the cart and, pausing briefly to pat Rhair's velvety nose, followed Gandalf up to the round yellow door. Gandalf winked at his son and raised his staff. Three solid knocks later, Bilbo's voice called out with obvious irritation,

"No thank you! We don't want anymore visitors, well-wishers, or distant relations."

"And what about very old friends?" asked Gandalf with his deep voice full of laughter.

The door opened. Bilbo looked up and took in the old, bearded wizard in grey and the younger, elven-smooth wizard in blue hovering behind him, "Gandalf? Mith?"

"Bilbo Baggins." Gandalf said warmly.

"Hello, little one," said Mithdarion, his heart brimming with joy to have Bilbo so real and bright in front of him.

"My dear friends," said Bilbo. Mithdarion held his arms out wide and Bilbo walked right into them, wrapping his own short arms around Mithdarion's hips. They grinned childishly at each other before Bilbo shifted over to bestow a simular hug on Gandalf.

"It's good to see you." The old wizard said. "111 years old, who would believe it." Gandalf released Bilbo and looked at him, his smile fading somewhat as he took in Bilbo's true appearance of agelessness. "You haven't aged a day." Bilbo seemed lost for words and Mithdarion shifted uneasily at the tension as the silence continued longer than it should have.

"Bilbo," he said with deliberate happiness. "Shall we stand on the doorstep all day?"

The hobbit blinked up at him for a moment, then he burst into mildly embarrassed laughter. Mithdarion and Gandalf joined him, the tension melting away with the camaraderie chuckling.

"Oh, Yes! Come on, come in", Bilbo said beckoning the two wizards forward. "Welcome, welcome." Bilbo closed the door behind them and took Gandalf's hat and staff and Mithdarion's staff, leaning them against the wall. The two tall staffs dwarfed the little hobbit sized sticks besides them, almost hitting the ceiling with their tips. Mithdarion had to bow his head to avoid the ceiling beams, his gaze lingering on his own reflection in the mirror. His appearance still startled him, all silver and blue where was once was brown and freckled pink. He only hoped that he became adjusted to this form before his awe drew the wrong kind of attention.

"Would you like tea?" Bilbo asked, chattering on completely ignorant of the younger wizard's distraction. "Or maybe something a little stronger? I've got a few bottles of the old Wineyard left. 1296, very good year, almost as old as I am."

Bilbo laughed and ran to the kitchen, happy to have his old friends with him once more. "It was laid down by my father. Let's say we open one, eh!" Mithdarion glanced at his father and shrugged, so Gandalf called out,

"Just tea, thank you," The old wizard went to stand upright and ended up smacking his head into the chandelier. "Ooh", he exclaimed and raised both hands to set the teetering chandelier straight. He stopped the thing from swinging, then turned around and promptly bumped his head into one of the ceiling beams that Mithdarion was so cautiously avoiding. "Ouch!" He cried. Mithdarion laughed freely at his father's awkwardness in the low house and Gandalf snorted. Then, just to spite Mithdarion's mirth it seemed, he turned and hit his own head upon the next beam over. His father smirked as if to say 'serves you right' and then wandered away into the small kitchen where a fire burned welcomingly in the fireplace.

Bilbo was busy preparing a variety of foods for his friends to enjoy. "I was expecting you both sometime last week!" He said. "Not that it matters, you two come and go as you please. Always have done and always will. I'm surprised that you came together! It's usually one or the other checking up on me. You caught me a bit unprepared, I'm afraid. We've only got cold chicken and bit of a pickle… there's some cheese here, uhn no that won't do. Ah, we've got raspberry jam, an apple tart, you like apple, right Mith? Oh, here's some muffins … "

As Bilbo continued to name enough food and preserves to feed a small army, let alone two wizards, Mithdarion took the liberty of looking at the piles of papers on Bilbo's desk. He picked up the map of Bilbo's first adventure with Gandalf to the Lonely Mountain, tracing his fingers along the fading ink lines.

"So much care," he murmured, thinking of attention to detail the programmers must have to put in to create such perfect intricacies as the faint crease marks on the old map. Gandalf, hearing him and necessarily mistaking his comment said,

"Hmm. Bilbo has treasured the memories of his little adventure." Mithdarion flinched and sternly reminded himself to be more cautious with his off-hand comments. Thinking quickly, he murmured back what seemed like an appropriate response, hoping that he would slip better into character before he could make any serious mistakes. Already he had looked too long into the mirror, and now here he was commenting on something that should not be known to exist.

"It is good that he does so. Such memories make him the unique hobbit he is today."

Moments later, Bilbo wandering back into the hall still chattering, "I can make you some eggs if you like… Mithdarion… Gandalf…?" It seemed to Bilbo that the two wizards had again vanished but he was soon put at ease as Mithdarion's fair face appeared around the doorway to the kitchen.

"Just tea, thank you," Mithdarion repeated his father's earlier words.

"Oh right," Bilbo said, stuffing a piece of bread into his mouth. "You don't mind if I eat?" Mithdarion grinned and resisted the urge to poke Bilbo's bulging cheeks, saying,

"Oh no, not at all." There was a sudden beating at the door and Bilbo darted backwards, pressing himself to the wall in a desperate desire to hide as a penetrating voice yelled,

"Bilbo! Bilbo Baggins!"

"I'm not at home!" Bilbo said nervously, finally parting from the wall to put the tray of food on the table. "It's the Sackville Bagginses. They're after the house! They've never forgiven me for living this long. Oh, I've got to get away from these confounded relatives hanging on the bell all day, never giving me a moment's peace! I want to see mountains again, mountains Gandalf! And those great trees, Mith! Branches thick enough for half a dozen elves to stroll across. And then find somewhere quiet where I can finish my book. Oh, tea."

He grabbed the teapot and poured the tea into three cups. Mithdarion snitched a teaspoon of sugar for his cup, ignoring his father's disapproving glance at the brown crystals.

"So, you mean to go through with your plan then?" Gandalf asked, shaking his head at his son's sweet tooth.

"Yes, yes it's all in hand," Bilbo agreed. "All the arrangements have been made. Oh, thank you." The last was said as Gandalf cleared a place for Bilbo to set down the tea pot.

"Frodo suspects something", Mithdarion said meaningfully.

"Of course he does," assured Bilbo, "he's a Baggins. Not some block-headed Bracegirdle from Hardbottle."

"You will tell him, won't you?" Mithdarion prompted.

"Yes, yes," answered Bilbo hurriedly.

"He's very fond of you," Gandalf added meaningfully.

"I know," answered Bilbo, with sorrow in his voice, "he'd probably come with me if I asked him. But I think in his heart Frodo's still in love with the shire. The woods… the fields… little rivers." For the briefest of moments Mithdarion experienced an intense urge to hug the hobbit, watching as Bilbo struggled to find the right words.

"I'm old, my friends," Bilbo finally said. "I know I don't look it, but I'm beginning to feel it in my heart. I feel… thin… sort of stretched like… butter scraped over too much bread."

Gandalf nodded his head in agreement whilst Mithdarion frowned at where Bilbo was grasping something within his waistcoat pocket. A distant sense of evil touched the fringes of the young wizard's mind and he flinched, amazed that such a non-physical sensation could be so perfectly replicated by a computer program.

Bilbo continued speaking absently, "I need a holiday, a very long holiday. And I don't expect I shall return… In fact, I mean not to."

Dusk fell over the shire, turning the pale blue sky into a wash of deep blue and faint stars. Mithdarion, Gandalf and Bilbo sat upon a hillcrest, watching the party preparations take place below them. Gandalf and Bilbo each held a lit tobacco pipe to their lips as Mithdarion held his pan-pipes to his own. Clear silvery notes danced in the cooling air, sending the pipe-weed smoke into fading spirals.

"Old toby," Bilbo sighed, "the finest weed in the Southfarthing." He took a deep breath on his pipe and sent a perfect ring of smoke floating through the air. Gandalf responded by pursing his lips and sending out a train of smoke interweaved with a light magic that formed it into the shape of a sailing boat. Without a single fault in his playing, Mithdarion aimed his own magic laced breath through his pipes and sent the boat billowing upon misty waves, past the ring and out over the field.

"Ah", Bilbo gasped with delight, "Gandalf, Mithdarion, my old friends… this will be a night to remember."

Fireworks lit up the night sky, sending brilliant showers of red, blue, green and gold bursting into the air. Music added a pleasant tone to the chatter and laughter of the celebrations. Harps and lutes mixed a sweet counter harmony to the flutes and horns. Mithdarion raised his pipes in descant to a lively song, taking a break from the constant attention of the curious hobbits. All night it seemed he had been surrounded by a chattering group of the bouncy little beings. He had danced, looking more than slightly ridiculous, with curly haired hobbit lads and lasses less than half his height. He had eaten far too much and breathed in more pipe-weed just wandering around than he probably would have if he'd been smoking his own pipe.

And yet, Mithdarion couldn't remember a time when he'd ever had more fun. There were other things too, little oddities worked into the Game's environment that only a modern-day person would pick up. Mithdarion found it amusingly like a game, trying to pick out the hints of the real world the programmer Sparky had twisted in peculiar places. A tune being played on a tiny hobbit's lute sounded like the Hamster's 'Thank God I'm A Country Boy'. One of Gandalf's fireworks exploded into the Star Trek Voyager logo. There was even a set of hobbit twins running around, one named Peter and the other named Jackson. Their father's name was Tolkien. Mithdarion had sprayed ale over several nearby revellers when he heard the twin's chubby mother scream out,

"Peter, Jackson! You put down that pig right now or so help me I'll have Tolkien spank you!"

As the bouncy song ended, Mithdarion bowed at the waist to the hobbit musicians and rose from his seat on the edge of the low platform. He tucked his pipes into a pocket and snagged a pear from a passing tray. Biting with inexplicable happiness into the juicy fruit, the wizard wandered through the crowd, taking in all manner of intricate elements of the thriving party. At one table Mithdarion watched Frodo shout,

"Oh no, you don't!" as he caught the back of Sam's tunic and threw him against a dancing Rosie. Frodo laughed childishly and, catching Mithdarion watching him, winked in a very roguish manner. Mithdarion just laughed back and continued on his wanderings. He wandered past his father just as Gandalf ignited another one of his fireworks, sending spears of light out over the entire field of partygoers. He wandered past Bilbo sitting surrounded by children, telling them of one of his adventures

"So, there I was, at the mercy of three, monstrous trolls and they were all arguing amongst themselves about how they were going to cook us. Whether it be turned on a spit, or whether they should sit on us one by one and squash us into jelly!"

One of the children gasped and Mithdarion felt his heart constrict briefly at the sheer cuteness of wide-eyed hobbit children.

"Well, and they spent so much time arguing about the whithertos and the whyfores," Bilbo continued, "that when the sun's first light crept up over the top of the trees and Poof! It turned them all to stone."

Mithdarion smiled indulgently and moved on, pausing as he saw two shadows edge out from behind one of the tents and make their way towards the wagon stacked with fireworks. He grinned in the strange light of lanterns and fireworks, his pale face weird and wonderful in the shifting colours.

"Quick," one of the shadows said to the other as he gave his friend a boost into the wagon.

Mithdarion placed his hand over his mouth to muffle the soft snorts of laughter threatening to escape, easing back into the shadows to ensure his presence didn't interrupt the hobbit's activities. He watched the shadow that must be Pippin scramble through the tubes of fireworks as Merry whispered,

"No, no! The big one, big one!" Pippin grabbed the largest firework he could find, bright red and curved in the shape of a bowed dragons' head. Merry glanced around nervously but his eyes could not see Mithdarion in darkness when the wizard was deliberately hiding his presence. The hobbits hustled the firework inside one of the tents and set to lighting the wick.

"Done!" Pippin exclaimed proudly, passing the firework to Merry, who immediately passed it back, shouting,

"You're supposed to stick it in the ground!"

"It is in the ground!" Pippin shouted back.

"Outside!"

"This was your idea!"

They were so busy passing the firework back and forth that neither of them noticed Mithdarion chuckling to himself beside the tent-flap. There was a burst of sulphur and the firework exploded, taking the entire tent zooming up with it.

Outside everyone cheered in thrilled amazement at the sight of the firework rising, tent and all, into the sky. It exploded in a burst of red and gold, changing into the form of a dragon. The hobbit's awed expressions turned into panic as the dragon dived into the crowd. Mithdarion stood and grinned, watching as the entire field of hobbits scattered in fear, running blindly and falling over themselves trying to get away from the fiery vision of wings and teeth. The dragon soared through the air, whirling and finally dissolving into ribbons of sparkles over the lake. The hobbits burst into relieved cheers and Mithdarion laughed out loud.

Merry and Pippin, ashes all over their faces beamed at their handiwork.

"That was good!" Merry said proudly.

"Let's get another one!" Pippin suggested. Mithdarion recovered his decorum enough to stride forward and yank on the hobbit's little ears, thoroughly enjoying playing the big-mean-wizard.

"Ahh!" the troublemakers yelled in surprise and pain.

"Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took. I might have known," Mithdarion said, pleased to have another piece of cannon in his name. The wizard dragged the two hobbits by their ears over to where Gandalf was standing, hands firmly on hips and a scowl on his face.

Merry and Pippin's punishment for their theft and foolish use of explosive objects was to wash the piles of dishes left from hundreds of feasting hobbits. Gandalf kept a close watch over the troublemakers whilst Mithdarion leant casually against a table, eagerly awaiting Bilbo's birthday speech.

"Speech!" hundreds of hobbits called out, banging tankards against tables. They clapped as Bilbo took to the low stage and grinning out over the crowd.

"My dear Bagginses and Boffins!" said Bilbo, pausing after ever name as cheers burst out across the field. "Tooks and Brandybucks! … Grubbs! … Chubbs! … Hornblowers! … Bolgers! … Bracegirdles! … And Proudfoots!"

"Proudfeet!" called out a lounging hobbit, wriggling his toes. The crowd laughed and Bilbo sighed in mirth before continuing with his speech, "today is my 111th birthday!"

"Happy birthday!" the crowd cheered.

"Happy birthday!" Mithdarion echoed, the light atmosphere causing him to smile non-stop. Faint dimples appeared upon his cheeks as Bilbo went on,

"Alas, eleventy-one years is far too short a time to live among such excellent and admirable hobbits! I don't know half of you half as well as I should like. And I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

The crowd was silent as they went back over Bilbo's words. They didn't know whether to be flattered or insulted. Gandalf however smiled and Mithdarion chuckled and tossed back his hair, the bright flash of molten silver drawing thoughtful glances from the nearby hobbit lasses.

Bilbo continued, his voice quietening and loosing his previous enthusiasm. "I…" he started as his fingers delved into his pocket and drew out the ring, hiding it behind his back. Mithdarion's smile faded. "I have things to do…I've put this off for far too long," Bilbo muttered more to himself than to his audience. The crowd waited.

"I regret to announce, this is the end! I'm going now, I bid you all a very fond farewell…" Bilbo stared out at Frodo and smiled sadly. "Goodbye."

Bilbo vanished.

The hobbits all gasped and Mithdarion turned in time to see a horrified look spread over his father's face.

"Damn," Mithdarion muttered, darting away from the packed tables and hurrying to the path leading up towards Bag End.

Trailing in Bilbo's wake, watching the little footprints appear in the mud, Mithdarion followed the invisible hobbit, eager for the next part of his Game to begin.

A/N: I apologise for the delay in posting. I've found the bit between the beginning and the fellowship difficult to write. But hey, onto the next chapter! Mithdarion uses the Time Jump Drive for the first time. He goes forward seventeen years to Rivendell, but the landing is rough and something in the pendant breaks.


End file.
